


The Night Listener

by aflaminghalo



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Voyeurism, kind of non-con but not too much, mastubation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflaminghalo/pseuds/aflaminghalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was pleasure in listening to a battle being fought - in feeling his own muscles tense in response to a punch or kick being thrown far away; feeling his blood rise and skin prickle. Not as great a pleasure as actually being in the middle of battle, but enough, still more than enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Listener

Bruce inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, listening to it disperse into the cool air of the cave.

Sometimes, on nights like this, when investigations were running smoothly and crime seemed to have stayed at home, when everyone was where they were meant to be, it was easy for him to feel almost peaceful in the cave. For whole moments he could sit at the terminal and feel, just slightly, in control; feel himself a force for good, an agent of justice, spreading it out across Gotham and into all its dirty corners.

It was a good feeling and he tried not to let himself become attached to it – enjoy it on the inhale, and with the exhale, gone.

More often though, being alone in the cave brought anxieties about the value of his work. Worries continuously nipping at his heels - were the leads he was following correct, did he see enough of the big picture, were his allies working correctly, were they safe, were his enemies where they should be? Could he lie down to rest knowing he’d done everything in his power?

He tried not to get attached to that feeling either, although he was never as successful.

He shook the thought out of his head and took another breath, trying to regain his centre. The biggest obstacle in his search for peace was always himself.

The best thing to do was to keep busy; to have his computer running its simulations, to have the lab bubbling away, to watch the trackers on his people as they moved around the city, each with their talents and each with their areas. To remind himself that even when he wasn’t out there, he could still be effective. To chase away the loneliness that had infected him long ago by counting his allies and finding ways to keep them near him.

He looked up at the bright map of Gotham, always on display, illuminated by the computer screen backlight. On its face, the little points of light that represented each of the members of his group wound their way through their districts. Each representing the spread of the influence that began with him.

The little blue light that was Dick caught his eye. It was positioned at Bludhaven’s train yards. He tried to remember how long it had been since it had landed there. Too long of a while? No alarms had been triggered, Dick hadn’t made any emergency calls and there were a thousand good reasons for him to be in one location for so long. But he hated the thought of Dick being back in Bludhaven. He’d never liked it, had only ever learned to tolerate it.

He reached out towards the computer bank. 

"Nightwing, Check in."

“Hey Batman. Everything alright on that end?”

Bruce could hear the ‘because it’s all fine on this end, obviously,’ as plainly as if it had been spoken. “It’s fine Nightwing, just checking in.”

There was a soft grunt, something sarcastic and disbelieving, and then, “Listen, I’m just in the middle of something. You’ll have to give me a minute.” 

“Nightw-”

But Dick had gone silent, shutting down the conversation and leaving Bruce with only his ears.

All Bruce could hear through the com link were the soft footfalls and the soft, almost silent, rasp of Nightwing’s suit as he moved towards his target and pounced.

 

Bruce closed his eyes to see. He knew enough of Gotham to be able to call it immediately to mind - his eyes flickering behind their lids, instinctively, to the spots where he knew the shadows would be darkest, where an ambush could best be planted.

There was pleasure in listening to a battle being fought - in feeling his own muscles tense in response to a punch or kick being thrown far away; feeling his blood rise and skin prickle. Not as great a pleasure as actually being in the middle of battle, but enough, still more than enough.

He could hear the muted shouts of men full of bravado, shriller cries of pain, the heavy fall of blows, and the quick whistle of Dicks escrima sticks as they sliced through air and left their branding marks.

His mind laid it before his eyes like a chess game, and his body responded to every move made. Bruce felt himself wincing when blows landed, his fists curling at the sound every punch, his body filling with a sense of power that normally took a real fight to drain it again. He felt wild, strong and glutted on the limitless sense of his bodies possibilities. 

A screech of metal and engines filled the cave, drowning out the shouts of Dick and the other men, thundering like Bruce’s heartbeat.Long moments dragged as Bruce tried to hear something underneath the ugly, painful sound of the train.And then it had passed and there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing filling the cave, Bruce and Dicks mingling.

Static flared as Dick’s voice came back over the channel, his mouth too close to his transmitter, his exhaustion and frustration audible in a groan.

Bruce called the image of Dick into his mind’s eye; could see the younger man checking himself and his suit for damage; feeling for cuts and checking their depth, turning his joints to feel for sprains, the kind of injuries that wouldn’t announce themselves until that joint was needed…

Bruce felt himself holding his breath against the silence coming through the link, his chest beginning to ache from it.

"Sorry B, got grazed there. Just having a little freak out."

“Don’t. Get back here now.”

Another moment of silence came from the link, no longer heavy but disturbingly fragile, stretching out not time but the distance between the two men until Bruce could feel it splintering. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing he could reword his request. Too brusque, he was always too brusque. He didn’t know how to speak to Dick anymore. Every time he opened his mouth it felt like he was either laying down landmines, or stepping on one.

“Nightwing…”

"Look, I'm just going to go for a minute, ok. We can talk about it later."

The com link shut down. Completely this time, not just to the silent channel they’d shared a moment earlier.

 

Bruce slumped back in his chair, celebrating another victory for his interpersonal skills. He turned to one of the smaller screens and tried to focus on reading a report Tim had filed the year previous. He thought it might help with something he was working on, but his attention wouldn’t stay with it. He could feel the steady point of light on him like a weight though, distracting him, tempting him. Bruce kept his eyes on the report, reading the same page three times without taking any of it in.  
He glanced back up at the map. The dot that represented Dick had moved, but not fast and not far. He sighed and turned back to the main computer station and opened a program, tapping in a command line. 

If Dick wouldn’t talk to him, he didn’t have to. The link fizzed back into action, transmitting to Bruce’s end only.

 "Let me check…" The voice that filled the cave was flirtatious and worried, too quiet and breathy for him to recognise immediately.

Bruce looked again at the screen, his brows knotting together in confusion. Dick’s avatar was alone, but Dick was not. There was a soft breath that he didn’t identify as belonging to Dick, then one he did that ended on a hiss.

It wasn’t a hiss of pain. He knew that immediately – analysing the breath, the cadence of the speech, the force of the exhale before it even hits his conscious mind.

His hand hovered over the keyboard, ready to turn it off. This was something private, he knew, something he had no place spying on and shouldn’t want to, but the breath resolved back into another moan and a sigh. He could hear material rasping, and the soft heavy sound of kissing; feel his own blood, which never really settled, rise up in sympathy.

There were a dozen ways for him to see Dick. To really see him. To know exactly what he was doing and who he was with. With a few taps of the keyboard he could be inside any security camera in Gotham.

He can’t bring himself to see the action through.

Either of them.

He shuts his eyes instead. Just for a moment, he promises himself, closing his eyes to see – imagines them, bodies crushing up against cold, rough walls, the cold spots where clothing or armour is pushed up and then covered by hot hands. He feels himself grinding and rutting up against another body like they’re trying to outrun the end of the world.  
Bruce’s own hips flex instinctively against the empty air.  
And then there’s a deeper sigh, almost guttural, a moan. And the sounds of flesh and fabric, tongues and breath get harder, faster.  
He can feel legs wrapped around his own waist, a hot mouth lapping at his, can feel the urgency, the absolute vital need of the moment.  
His own groan takes him by surprise; opening his eyes and realizing that his own hand is gripping his cock, hard, through his leggings.

He tries to find his shame. To find the thing that will make him stop this. This is such a breach of trust. If they ever knew… but the feel of his hand is so hard and tight and his cock is pulsing, pulsing, feeling as though it has a life of its own and their own hot little animal cries are so close to him that there’s nothing else he can do except close his eyes and ride it out with them, matching his own rhythm to the one set by their little cries and thrusts. Gripping himself so tight that it hurts, and biting his lip to the blood.

He comes quietly, desperately, still biting his lips to hold everything in even though he has no need to. Nightwing and his friend come quietly too, but in a different way, low and breathy; trying to hide but knowing they’re alone.

Bruce has no need to hide, but he knows he is alone.


End file.
